


Bond

by legendofthesevenstars



Series: Machina Trilogy [2]
Category: Xenoblade Chronicles
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Sibling Relationship, Twins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-25 22:44:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17130098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/legendofthesevenstars/pseuds/legendofthesevenstars
Summary: A sibling is a blessing in disguise. At times they annoy you, at times you wish they hadn't been born. But most of all, you love them, more than anything, because sometimes they understand you more than anyone.Vanea and Egil's sibling relationship over the millennia.





	Bond

When she was a child, Vanea loved the safety and warmth provided by the enclosure in which all Machina children live. She didn’t want to leave her pod, knowing that when she did, she would have to learn how to walk and start wearing armor like an adult. It would also mean she would be expected to study life and biology on Mechonis, as all Machina did, maybe even repair and create Mechon herself. She didn’t like thinking about growing up, unlike her twin brother, Egil.

Egil watched their father, Miqol, wheel himself around, watched all the other Machina walk, using their legs. When he wasn’t watching the grown-ups, he was looking at the sky both day and night, and to the Bionis on the horizon. Other, older Machina—Father’s friends, young engineers, or couples—sometimes left to visit Bionis. Going there was possible back then, since Mechonis and Bionis were joined by their hands, but it was a difficult journey. Machina who left would be guaranteed to be gone for months, even a year or longer. Still, Egil said all the time that as soon as he was mobile he would be making the journey to Bionis.

“I don’t understand your fascination with the Bionis,” Vanea whispered to him one evening. They were supposed to be asleep; it was night and Father was resting too. “Why do you want to go there so badly?”

Egil was silent for a moment. Maneuvering over to the door, he then pushed it open with the edge of his pod and sat up to listen. She sat up too, opening her eyes. He floated back toward her. “Father’s sleeping, and he will continue to. Follow me.”

“What do you—” She realized what he meant to do. “Egil! I’m not going to _sneak out!_ Imagine what Father would think. What if something happened while we were out there? You know we aren’t supposed to go anywhere alone!”

“Oh, don’t be such a bore. You never want to do anything daring. This is the most freedom we may ever have while we are children. This is my chance to show you why I want to visit the Bionis. Now come.”

Vanea didn’t know any world outside of being accompanied by Father everywhere they went. She and Egil were glued to him. Naturally, she was scared. But she wanted to understand, so she followed him out the door.

Once they were outside, Egil led them close to the entrance to Lady Meyneth’s shrine. “There, through the wide windows in the Mechonis’ visor.” He pointed toward where the starlight came in. “You have never looked behind yourself when we come here to see Lady Meyneth, have you?”

He was right. Vanea knew the Bionis was back there, but she hadn’t looked through the visor from anywhere higher than the streets. Somehow, she didn’t want to see. But she still wanted to understand. No, she had to understand.

“Sit up. Look as far as you can.”

She followed his directions, but, being as weak as all Machina children are, she was only able to sit up very briefly before she collapsed onto her back.

“Please, Vanea,” he urged her. “You have to see it.”

She was able to sit up again, this time supporting her body with her palms flat on the floor of her enclosure, though she trembled with instability. She looked harder, opening her eyes—normally only half-open at their age—all the way. Looked further, and saw a huge and motionless titan looming in the distance, staring Mechonis down.

“ _That’s_ the Bionis?” Eyes wide, she nearly fell again with the shock.

“That’s the Bionis!” Egil squealed with delight. “See, Vanea? Now you see how awe-inspiring it is. I must go there when I am older and can walk!”

Vanea was shaking. She wanted very much for Father to come and get them right now. She would give anything for Father to scold them, or for Lady Meyneth to see them and bring them back home. But she said nothing, because she knew Egil would only call her a coward again. She couldn’t help it: she liked being on Mechonis. She couldn’t understand Egil’s desire to leave.

—

The years between 1,300 and 1,500 are difficult for all Machina: they emerge from their childhood bodies into adolescence, and everything changes. Vanea and Egil were taken from the pods they had outgrown and fitted by a doctor for the armor they would continue to wear until they were fully developed at around 1,600 years of age, when they would be refitted for permanent armor. They learned to walk on the precarious heels all Machina wear, and felt the stiff, cold air of Agniratha. Vanea wished for the comfort of her pod again. Walking required a lot of balance, and she was not good at it. Neither was Egil, but he took to walking everywhere, every day, anywhere he could. He did not care how often he stumbled and fell. Because he was still considered a child, he was not allowed to leave the capital, but he would visit some of their childhood friends who were also just learning to walk and practice with them. Egil enjoyed having a full range of motion. Vanea liked magnetic levitation far better because it was easier.

Egil wasn’t content only with his newfound walking ability. He wanted to do engineering and surgery, and he had taken to learning Mechonite script so that he could read books (Father had always read to them in the evenings). Vanea, aside from a similar enthusiasm for reading and language, wasn’t as excited about “doing things” like Egil. But she wasn’t entirely dissatisfied with the new freedoms her adolescent body afforded. She was more excited about _touching_ things. Paper felt rough in her hands when she turned pages, and the heavy binding of books was often covered in a thick, flattened fabric. She slept in a real bed, with soft, heavy blankets and thin sheets made by Homs artisans from Bionis. She could push Egil away when he was teasing her, rather than just making faces at him. And she could walk up to Father and embrace him.

Most astoundingly of all, when they were knelt in front of the shrine during the first few days they were out of their pods and still unarmored, Lady Meyneth touched her and Egil on their heads as a blessing. She had expected Lady Meyneth to be ethereal and gossamer like the holograms all over the capital, but hers was a real hand, a Machina hand. It would always remain with her that Meyneth was a person like the rest of them, the only difference being that she had created them.

Egil relished the freedom of movement afforded by his change in shape; Vanea felt liberated in a different way. Though she was still growing into her body, Lady Meyneth had showed her the beauty of being a Machina. She wanted to be like her: loving, selfless, pure. And didn’t everyone? Because after all, the Machina had been created in her image.

One evening, she asked Egil what he planned to do when they were fully grown.

“My answer has not changed. My utmost goal is to see what is beyond Mechonis. I want to visit Bionis.” There was a firm determination in his voice.

“I see,” Vanea said. “But if you could not go to Bionis, what would you do?”

“Naturally I will not stay there forever. I will learn all that I can so that I can help everyone else to have a better life. I believe that is what Lady Meyneth wants. Perhaps I will become a doctor or an engineer.”

Either one sounded like a good fit for Egil. She was glad to hear that he wanted to be selfless like Lady Meyneth too. But why leave so soon, right after he’d graduated to adulthood?

“And what do you plan?” Egil turned to face her. “Surely you don’t mean to stay here all your life? You will come with me, no?”

Vanea looked at her knees. Egil had a good life here on Mechonis: he had a small but close group of friends. He had Lady Meyneth’s love that all creatures on Mechonis felt. He had her and Father. Vanea was shy, and it was difficult for her to make close friends. Lady Meyneth was kind to her, as she was to all her creations. But her world with Egil and Father was still most of what she knew. Books could only tell her so much about the Bionis.

“I quite like it here,” she mumbled. She didn’t know what she wanted to do, or who she was going to become. She only knew how she wanted to be.

Egil lightly placed his hand on her shoulder. It surprised her: he was normally reticent when it came to touch. Just as she felt unnatural when walking, so he often did not realize that touching people and things was now possible.

“Vanea, I know what’s wrong. I talk far too much about leaving, because I have always wanted to leave. But I want to stay, just as much as you.” He paused and removed his hand from her shoulder. “This is all we have known, for more than a thousand years. My departure will not be easy for me, you, and certainly not for Father. The freedom I wanted so much when we were children has yet to come.”

Vanea looked up into Egil’s eyes. “We still have a few centuries before we even have to worry ourselves with such things. So I say we forget them for now. We are but children.”

Egil nodded. “Very well.”

—

Awkward adolescence gave way to young adulthood; finally the twins wore their permanent armor and felt somewhat comfortable in their bodies, their enclosures now distant childhood memories. Egil stayed on Mechonis for twenty years dabbling in various trades and doing research about Bionis (an acquaintance of Father’s from Bionis brought books in exchange for Mechon parts). The twins studied the same subjects—physics, biology, anatomy, mathematics. Vanea helped a doctor repair Mechon and started to assist with operations on Machina fifteen years into the job. Soon afterward, Egil left to go on his first trip, alone, to Bionis. He was gone for three years, presumably exploring the other titan. It bothered her that he never sent word, but then, she supposed, he wouldn’t be free if he labored under the constant obligation to write and send letters, and the distance was too great to send word anyhow.

When he finally came back home, his voice sounded foreign to her. His very appearance seemed an aberration, she had been separated from him for that long. She couldn’t bear it; she threw her arms around him, holding him tightly. He laughed for a moment, perhaps uncomfortable or surprised; then he relaxed into the embrace.

When they got home, Egil took a nap, and when he woke up, Vanea was already sitting expectantly on the window bench downstairs, where they had often read books in the evenings before he left. He walked over to the bench, sitting down next to her.

“How was it?” she asked.

His drowsy red eyes lit up with a slight glow. “Even better than in books. There is so much more than I could have ever imagined. Bionis is home to the most immense of wonders and the smallest of miracles. Everything is diverse, always changing, always full of so much life. And it’s so bright and colorful. Shades of green, blue, violet, black, brown. Only the sky has so much color here.”

“What did you see?”

“Grass, rivers, trees, lakes, mountains, leaves. All are unknown in our world; I know only the words the Bionites used. People—not only Homs, but Giants and High Entia, even Nopon—living together in harmony, just as the Machina and Mechon do. Myriad beasts and creatures. And so many things I can neither name nor explain.” He paused to catch his breath. “Everything is changing for me now. I was so ignorant before of how vast our world truly is.”

“This all sounds impressive,” Vanea said, even though she could not conceive of a world that looked completely different from Mechonis. She imagined it made of sky and water. “Grass” and “trees” she’d read about in Bionite books, but never seen pictures. “Still, it’s hard for me to fathom, never having been there myself. You might draw or write something, so that I could have a more complete picture of what it’s like.”

Egil smirked. “You’re in luck. I wrote quite a bit of poetry while I was there. Excuse me for a moment.” He went back upstairs.

Wrote poetry? That was curious. Vanea had never written anything except when her occupation necessitated it. Moreover, she did not read poetry, though she remembered Father having recited ancient poems from his youth when they were children.

“Here, Sister.”

She accepted the bound sheets of paper from Egil. He must have acquired it on Bionis: it was high-quality paper. In his immaculate Mechonite script, he had written about everything: fire, snow, rain, lightning, and wind; open fields, lush jungles, and trees that glowed blue and purple; Homs markets, Nopon trade, the High Entia opera. Over her shoulder, he explained the context of each poem as she read them. The first few were stiff, but then they changed, first becoming more flowery and descriptive, then developing a style somewhere between the initial stiffness and the fluffiness of the later style. Egil had a wide vocabulary—he always had, even before he himself began reading—but he had needed some time to hone his craft. She thought he had done wonderfully. Better than she could have.

When she came to the last poem, he seized the sheet and stammered, “That one’s personal; sorry.” She had only caught the first line: _In spite of time and space, hearts eternal unite_

“Why can’t I read it?” she asked innocently.

“You’re going to tell Father.”

She looked around as if to make sure Father wasn’t there, even though they had lived in their own house for fifteen years now. “Why would I tell Father? What’s the matter?”

“Nothing’s the matter; I just can’t tell you what it’s about.” He held the sheets to his chest.

“You can tell me anything. You know that.” At least, he used to, when they were children. He told her everything and she told him everything. But something had changed when he had become an adult. And she reacted to it. She hid things from him, too. And they no longer told Father everything, because they no longer lived with him. The only one they would bare themselves to, or at least, to whom _she_ told everything, was Lady Meyneth. Vanea felt as if they were losing the connection they used to share, the special one that people rumored all twins had. But had they ever really had it?

“I would really rather not,” Egil said.

“Fine.” Vanea bit the word off; it hung in the air around them. She had been happy to read Egil’s poems, as they gave her better insight into his travels and what he was feeling, but it frustrated her that there was a part of Egil she would never understand, not that he would ever let her access it.

—

Decades turned to a century; Vanea’s connection to Egil wore thinner and thinner. Even when he stayed in Agniratha for years at a time, he was always occupied. He created and fixed Mechon during the day and was shut in his room in the evenings writing poems or doing research on the Mechon or the history of Agniratha. Vanea was busy too. She studied what Egil had practiced when he was younger: engineering and how to craft Mechon. She had enjoyed the years during which she was a doctor, and was able to apply the same precision she had learned on the operating table to create machinery. At the same time, she was training someone to be a surgeon, a woman a few centuries younger than her and Egil named Linada. Vanea’s mentor was around Father’s age, and she needed someone else to help if Vanea was going to move on from her craft.

Whenever she had the time, she might spend an evening talking to her brother, and sometimes, Father would come visit too. Egil did not often discuss what he was actually doing on Bionis, despite how frequently he was there, but he always reacted positively whenever she brought it up. It was difficult to ignore how happy he was: he loved the life he was living. Truthfully, he was _very_ happy, though he sometimes had a distant, dreamy look in his eyes when he talked about the Bionis. He had begun to bring up deep intellectual questions about the universe, death, and all manner of large things that she preferred to ignore on a daily basis, but wasn’t surprised that Egil took interest in. She had always grounded herself in what she knew, and his mind was always abstracting, creating, drawing conclusions.

Even as she drifted further from Egil, she felt ever closer to Lady Meyneth, and apparently, so did he. He would spend entire evenings at her shrine, probably because he was deprived of her company whenever he went to the Bionis. He would talk to her just like a friend; back then, she listened, smiling and nodding along. If you had problems, she couldn’t guarantee that she could solve it, because you should always decide what to do, but she always gave the best advice. When the twins were children, they had worshipped her; now as adults, they felt she was like the mother they had never had. But soon, they would lose Lady Meyneth, too.

Just short of the twins’ 1,781st birthday, the Bionis plunged its sword into the Mechonis’ head, bringing down its wrath on Agniratha.

The impact wrecked the city. Buildings shook and collapsed; structures that had stood for millennia crumbled under the weight of the Bionis’ blade, trapping some misfortunate people inside their residences. The high concentration of ether alone was toxic enough to virtually vaporize those caught in the center of the attack. The extreme radiation would spread and contaminate Agniratha, and flying green beasts, what Egil would later call “Telethia,” swooped down on those Machina who were already falling victim to the ether pollution. The few survivors, led by Miqol, crawled inside Meyneth’s shrine and into the core of the Mechonis for safety. Vanea, one of the last to get undercover, looked first for Father, saw Linada sitting next to him. Then she tried to find Egil, but she didn’t see him anywhere.

“Egil!” she screamed, ready to leave and run for him. “My brother is missing!” Someone caught her by the ankle, and she fell onto her knees.

“Lady Meyneth has control of him!” the person who had caught hold of her said.

“What?!” Vanea sputtered.

“She needs his help against the Bionis! Look!”

Vanea crawled to the edge of the shelter so she could look into the core of the Mechonis. There was a glowing red light, almost as bright as the Bionis’ sword. She glimpsed gray and black armor. Later she would understand that Meyneth had used Egil as her vessel. She would also come to understand that Meyneth had chosen Egil because he was close to the vessel that carried Zanza, the Bionis’ soul. But then, she didn’t understand. She didn’t know why the Bionis was attacking, or whether her brother was in danger. She started to wail, sobbing until her chest hurt. No one told her to be quiet.

Hours passed until finally, the Bionis groaned in pain, and everything fell still for a moment. The Machina left the Mechonis’ core and waited for Meyneth. They were all weak from injuries and the ether radiation, and Agniratha lay in shambles, devastated.

Lady Meyneth walked out finally, Egil limp in her arms. She gently set him at Vanea’s knees, and Vanea fell to the ground, her arms around him. Too shaken to start crying again, she listened for respiration, hearts beating, gears turning, any sign of life. Most importantly, she needed to hear or feel the quiet hum and warmth generated by a functioning core unit. Then a weak exhale of breath stirred her hair where it was exposed from her helmet, and she sighed in relief, collapsing onto his chest. A moment passed before the low thrum of his core and his slow but regular heartbeats became clear.

A collective weight lifted from their chests, the Machina prostrated themselves before Meyneth. Vanea lifted her head up and saw the shame on Lady Meyneth’s face. She looked small, bewildered, and most of all, utterly exhausted. It was terrifying to see her like this.

 “I was able to protect Egil from certain death, but…” She shook her head. “Saving him took the very last of my strength. I am severely weakened, and sadly, this is not the end. Zanza will retaliate. Until then,” she said, retreating into the core of the Mechonis, “please, leave and survive, my children.”

—

The arm that the Bionis had cut off of the Mechonis seemed to be the best place to hide from Zanza; it would be far away from the radiation still present in Agniratha, which was worsened by the Telethia still decomposing there. Egil’s recovery was long and slow. When he came to, his memory was foggy at first. He kept asking for Lady Meyneth, and all Vanea could do was hold his hand in both of hers and say “She’ll come back some day.” It was strange; she had never felt like the older one, but she looked after Egil the whole time, caring for his injuries, operating on the broken knee that Lady Meyneth must not have been able to prevent, and helping him learn to walk, again. Even after he remembered, he was still unable to fully grasp the weight of what had happened. None of them could. It seemed unreal. They had lived in peace for so long: how could it be real? How could an evil entity haunting the Bionis want nothing more than for them to die, for the Mechonis to cease existence? How could they have ever known?

When Egil was well again, he immediately began work on an airship powered by ether, and he constructed Mechon. It went on for a few months, and he shut himself away from everyone else, even refusing to talk to Vanea, until one afternoon when he led her onto the airship. He told her to wait for a moment. Eager to finally talk to him again, she didn’t move, watching as he walked deeper into the ship. But before she could realize it, or ask any questions, he was already flying it to Agniratha, where he landed in the remains of Meyneth’s shrine.

Vanea followed him onto the ship’s deck. He was faced toward the core of the Mechonis, his back to her, his arms folded.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his head bowed, “but I needed to take someone along.”

“But why come back here? Why did you bring me?” After such a long recovery, he was going to put his health at risk again by going back to a capital in shambles that was still leaking radiation from Bionis?

Egil turned around and met her eyes. His expression was neutral, his arms tightly folded. “We are going to wait for Lady Meyneth,” he said. “We Machina are as good as dead until she returns and kills Zanza. If that does not happen…” His stoicism abruptly changed to a disappointed look, as if he hated to consider the possibility that Lady Meyneth would not return. “If that does not happen, then I must stop Zanza myself.”

“And how do you plan to do that?”

“By destroying all sentient life on Bionis.” Before she could even begin to form the word “why,” he went on, “I read that when beings die on Bionis, they return to it as ether. That means that the Bionis is becoming more powerful by consuming the corpses of its dead. If I eradicate all its beings, rather than allowing nature to take its course…”

Vanea felt lightheaded. This was not her brother. He would never speak in a detached, objective way like this, and he would _never_ have considered murder under any circumstances. Yet here they were.

“Why would you ever think that could solve our problem? You will only make the races of Bionis hate us. You lived, conversed, and traded with them for years, and you know they did nothing to hurt you. How is the attack their fault? It was all caused by Zanza!”

“It is not their fault, and I will not claim that it is. Regardless, Zanza will use their energy to prepare for his inevitable reawakening, whether decades or centuries from now.” Egil uncrossed his arms and shut his eyes for a moment. His stoic front was breaking down completely now; he was shaking, shaking with fury. “Zanza has taken everything away from me. Agniratha is destroyed. Lady Meyneth is gone. And he has taken over my beloved friend and turned him into his puppet.” Egil clenched his fists. “Surely you will help me avenge the dead, Vanea,” he said, his voice breaking; “I thought _you_ would understand my sorrow, most of anyone.”

Vanea _did_ understand. She wanted to wait for Lady Meyneth too. She wanted to get rid of Zanza too. But Egil’s wrath terrified her. She also wanted to live in safety on the Fallen Arm, where her friends, Father, and all the other Machina lived. No, it would never be the same as it had been in Agniratha. Many had perished in the attack, with others still dangerously ill. Houses, as well as a wall around the village to prevent from any possible threats, were still being built. It wasn’t truly peaceful—as long as Zanza continued to live they would still be at risk—but it would be enough. Why didn’t he think so too?

Still, she saw the merit in remaining in Agniratha, because of how strained their relationship had been over the past century, how distant they had become from each other, and how she had almost lost him in the battle against Zanza. It wasn’t the best circumstance or time, but she wanted a chance to reconnect with him. After all, this was home, and he was her brother. Maybe she could change his mind if she stayed here. Maybe Lady Meyneth might wake back up, and they could ask her to help them defeat Zanza. They could rebuild Agniratha in preparation for the day when everyone could come back.

“I will stay, for the time being,” Vanea said.

—

Singlehandedly, Egil constructed a new Central Factory from the old one’s ruins, and together, he and Vanea rebuilt Agniratha. Dismantling his airship for parts, they designed new Mechon, with propellers, gears, lasers, tentacles; those Mechon helped them construct a new arm for the Mechonis. Egil developed new weapons. They got the database technologies, and the power, back up and running throughout the city.

In the evenings, they knelt before the shrine. Vanea buried her face in her hands and refused to even glance his way. Egil sighed long, drawn-out sighs heavy with decades of pain and locked himself in his laboratory for hours afterward instead of resting. Never talking to her, except to discuss their “work,” or to remind her time and time again of the wrongs done to them by the Bionis, and she quickly grew tired of both. She no longer had any desire to reconnect with him.

Vanea wanted to return to the Fallen Arm to visit Father and Linada. But for three centuries, Egil would not permit her to go anywhere beyond Agniratha. It was horrible. All those years he had spent on Bionis, and now he wanted to stay on Mechonis. For the first time in her life, she genuinely wished he would leave. For the first time in her life, she sincerely _hated_ her brother.

Hate: a powerful emotion, a powerful word. She had never truly felt hate toward anything in her life. Neither had Egil, not until the Bionis attacked. Now she felt as if they were bound by their hatred, his hatred for Zanza, her hatred for him. He externalized his hatred and used it to drive his work along. She internalized her hatred. As often as she thought about leaving, she thought of how much she despised what Egil was doing, and hated him himself. And when she went to Meyneth’s shrine alone in the middle of the night—as if she were still listening after nearly three hundred years of being asleep—her rants turned into sobs. She was so tired of him. She would give anything to talk to anyone besides Egil.

Then, one silent night, she felt a familiar gentle palm against her face while kneeling alone in front of the shrine.

She gasped. “Mother, is that you?”

“Yes, dear child, I’m here.”

“I can’t believe this. Lady Meyneth!” She looked up to ascertain if it really was her. Indeed it was Lady Meyneth. She had a calming presence that made anyone feel like a fragile child.

“You wish to see the others?” Meyneth said.

Vanea nodded. “Please, just get me away from him.”

“I will do that for you. However, Vanea, family is important to you, and it is important to Egil. You will return. And one day you will help me convince him of the error of his ways.” She placed her palm on the top of Vanea’s helmet, like when she had touched her head ages ago. “I will return to my slumber after you have made it back to the village.”

Vanea woke up on the Fallen Arm, in the Hidden Village. She couldn’t remember how she had gotten there, and she still thought Meyneth was dormant. She caught up with Father and Linada. Her happiness, however, was short-lived and swallowed by guilt. Everything she had helped Egil with—she had to tell Father what he was trying to do before it was time to return.

“He wants to wipe out all life on Bionis,” Miqol repeated incredulously.

“Yes, Father,” she said, ashamed, as if taking the blame for Egil’s rage.

Miqol shook his head. “Years ago, that idea would never have even entered his mind. He loved his visits and vacations. You know how he always wanted to go there when you two were young.”

“It is tragic, but what he used to think no longer matters. He has already struck once and he is going for a second attempt.”

“He plans to launch a second attack on Bionis?”

“Yes. He goes through Sword Valley. It’s connected to the Bionis’ torso, so it’s easy to get through to the Homs colonies.”

Miqol folded his arms, deep in thought for a moment, then said, “He wouldn’t kill his own people, would he?”

Vanea shook her head. “He definitely doesn’t blame any of us for what happened.”

“Then we intervene. Our civilians in between the two armies of Mechon and Homs. That should give him pause.”

It would have been a good plan, had Egil paid attention to his targets. He blindly released the Mechon, and dozens of Machina were injured, even killed. When he realized what he had done, he withdrew his troops and the Homs took it as a victory, perhaps assuming the slaughtered Machina to be a new type of Homs-like Mechon designed to trick them.

Horrified by the outcome of the battle, Vanea left the Fallen Arm, walking all the way up the Mechonis’ leg, through Central Factory. She didn’t ask for any sort of transportation home, thinking she could never face her father again after all the lives that had been lost. But it meant she would have to explain to Egil what had happened, and she had plenty of time to think about it during the weeks it took her to walk up the Mechonis.

“You told Father,” Egil said as soon as she had returned.

That much was obvious. She said nothing.

“You told him to send our people, didn’t you!”

“No, I didn’t.” She shook her head. “He did so of his own accord. It was his plan.”

“Then why did he do it?”

“To make you realize that what you are doing can only end in disaster for you and for our people.” Her hatred was surging in her blood now. She curled her fingers into fists. “I have had enough of fighting. From now on, you will build Mechon on your own.”

“Vanea!”

She had already turned her back to him, but the way he choked on her name froze her in her tracks. If she left, Egil would be alone. And even when he had used to seclude himself in his room years ago, Vanea had always been in the same house. On the Bionis, his friend had always been with him. He had never gone it alone and he wasn’t eager to. Vanea realized then that their bond had always been strong. But she had always taken it for granted, and so had he.

She turned back around.

“I’ll stay, but on one condition. You have to allow me to go where I wish. You always went to the Bionis whenever you wanted. You enjoyed your freedom, so let me have mine!”

Egil’s face softened, the first in hundreds of years she hadn’t seen it hardened and bitter. “Understood. You may come and go as you please.”

—

Millennia numbed Vanea to the horrors of war, including Egil’s suggestion that they gut Homs and make them into Machina in order to counteract the Monado. Her history as a surgeon came in handy and they recruited Linada, who outclassed Vanea in knowledge of Homs physiology, to help with the first few cases as well. It was never an easy job. The soldiers they harvested retained their memories and did not turn out to be the killing machines that Egil so desired. It was only when they received their first civilian that Vanea’s perspective changed.

The notes Egil gave her pointed out that the girl (a young girl, based on the ages attributed to the older Homs) was the close friend of the wielder of the Monado—in other words, Zanza’s current vessel. Vanea remembered distantly hearing someone to tell her to fight back against Egil, and she recruited Meyneth to help her. The girl’s body became a vessel for Meyneth’s soul. She was the last hope for returning Mechonis to its former glory.

The years in Agniratha had distanced them from the people they used to be. Vanea crafted Mechon every day, just as she had for thousands of years, yet it no longer excited her. Surgery was boring too; the novelty of operating on Homs bodies had already worn off after mere months. She no longer touched anyone or anything, not really, or at least would never feel as if physical contact could bring her joy again. Egil had not written a poem in millennia, and the few books he’d still kept after the attack were yellowing and decaying. He would never travel to the Bionis again. He, too, was oppressed by their war machine. Trapped by their routines of complacency.

When she finally met the girl, Fiora, and her friends, Vanea felt invigorated by their youth and courage, and she became confident enough to stand up to Egil again, to show him that he and the Bionis could be forgiven for what they had done to each other. But he was too bitter to give in, even to Lady Meyneth’s words, his anger crystallized in his icy soul. In his fury he destroyed the capital they had rebuilt together. The wielder of the Monado, Shulk, shocked her too, how his iron determination to kill Egil faded into recognition of what she had realized long ago, that there was no reason to fight, if even to kill Zanza.

But just as Meyneth returned, so Zanza would too. Shulk had been his vessel. But in spite of the way events had turned, Lady Meyneth’s reawakening had changed Vanea. She had begun to care again, care about the peace that she and Egil had tried in vain to achieve by going about it in all the wrong ways. Were it not for Zanza, Shulk and Egil might have achieved it right then and there, with a simple joining of hands.

Lady Meyneth gave the last of her life to protect everyone. The Mechonis’ Monado fell; Egil nearly caught it. Then it was gone. And Zanza was gone.

Egil lay helpless on the floor of the Core of the Mechonis. Explosions burst above them as Yaldabaoth broke down; she rushed down to him. This couldn’t be happening, not with two thousand years, perhaps even three thousand, still ahead of them. They could be reunited again, she, Egil, and Father. They could try to be a proper family.

“Egil!” she shouted above the commotion, leaning down so he could hear her. “Get up! There’s still time! Come with us!”

“Please, Sister,” he said, nearly choking on his words from exhaustion; “leave me.”

“What?” She reached for his hand, extracting it from Yaldabaoth’s control panel, squeezing it in both of hers. Nearing his face, she shouted, “What do you mean ‘leave me’? Are you trying to get yourself killed? You want to die here?!”

He reached his other hand up and pushed her face away from his. She was so surprised that he had touched her, and by how sudden it had been, that she didn’t even react.

“Leave me, Vanea!” he shouted. Then he fell quiet for a moment. Once he had caught his breath, he said, “There’s one more thing I have to do. For Shulk. For Lady Meyneth. And for you! If you don’t leave me here, then I can’t do that!”

“Egil, I don’t—” _Understand,_ she was about to say, but in that moment, she realized what he wanted to do. He was going to try to stop Zanza, one last time. And he knew it would cost him his life.

She did. She did understand. She had always understood him, what he wanted, what he fought for, what he believed in. Even when she thought she didn’t.

Then, his shaking hand on her shoulder. “Farewell, Vanea. Thank you for believing in me when Lady Meyneth couldn’t be there for us.”

“Oh, Brother,” she sobbed, collapsing onto his chest. The explosions from above faded for a moment, and in the brief silence she heard the stuttering hum of a malfunctioning core unit, uneven and delayed heartbeats, strangled breaths.

He _was_ dying.

In her rueful sorrow, she wished: wished that the Bionis never existed, that she had never grown up, that she had never trained as a doctor, never read Egil’s poems, that she had talked to Egil more when they were young adults, that she had been more forgiving, that she had spent more time with him. And then she pushed those thoughts away to face reality.

She lifted her head. “Goodbye, Egil,” she said, meeting her brother’s eyes for the final time.

—

Machina don’t know how to cope with death. They die so infrequently that a single death feels like a hundred deaths to their loved ones. A birth is rare, but always brings hope; a death is distressing in its rarity and its gravity. Zanza’s massacre of their people still weighs heavily in Machina collective memory, and it is worse for those who lost relatives in the attack. For Vanea, it hurts to remember, but it seems so distant, almost insignificant, compared with the pain she feels now.

Vanea never knew her mother before she was gone. Losing Lady Meyneth leaves the same kind of hole in her life, even if she can always talk to Fiora or any other Machina who will understand. Even now that she can’t hear, Vanea still talks to her now and then, and she can almost imagine the responses she might give. Vanea thinks of Meyneth every day, but always with the comfort that Meyneth wanted the world to be this way. Vast, and new, everyone living together, with no need for gods.

Now that Egil is gone, she should feel free. After all, she is liberated from their war machine. But soon she begins to feel the emptiness again, the same boredom that had overtaken them thousands of years into their project. She wakes up expecting that she can go see him at work on a new Mechon, go over diagrams and plans with him, even hear his voice. What were daily occurrences for millennia are now luxuries of some foreign, distant past. Proofreading Melia’s poetry, she hopes that Egil’s voice might jump at her from the page. Shulk makes her laugh by his normal mannerisms alone, because he is so much like _him_ that sometimes, overcome by nostalgia, she has to turn away and leave the lab for a moment.

In the Colony 9 library one afternoon, she picks out a volume of High Entia folklore about family; Melia helps her decipher the script, guiding her to the section marked “twins.” There are only two sayings inscribed underneath it. Melia reads the first one: “ _They say that whenever something happens to a twin, the other tends to feel it._ ”

Vanea nods. The telepathic connection. At least in her experience, it proved to be only folklore. She asks Melia to read the second saying.

“ _When one twin dies, the other feels as if their arm has been severed._ ”

She bursts into sudden, emphatic sobs, Melia rubbing her shoulders. When she catches a breath, she says, “That’s exactly how I feel without him.”

Melia meets Vanea’s eyes. Egil always said he hated blue eyes, and she understood why when she finally saw Zanza firsthand. But Melia’s bright blue eyes seem to reflect all the pain she has felt, and carry so much empathy for someone who has also lost everything. Melia doesn’t have to say anything, and Vanea doesn’t either.

Neither of them mentions yesterday’s library visit the next day when they meet Sharla and Fiora for their “Sisterhood Tea.” It was Fiora’s idea to organize a weekly meeting for all of them, partly because they all had something in common, and partly because she would come up with any excuse to bake cookies for friends. Sharla complains about Juju crashing his buggy and being a poor shot, and Fiora complains about Dunban being lazy and leaving unwashed dishes in the sink, and everyone exchanges laughs and cookies and heartfelt smiles, and they all understand. Because they are all sisters.

“Having a brother can be so hard sometimes,” Fiora admits. Wiping crumbs off her face with her fist (which no longer bothers Melia like it used to), she smiles at Vanea. “Right, sisters?”

If it had been easy, Vanea supposes, despite all that she had to go through, she wouldn’t be missing Egil. It is hard. But there is no one in the world who can replace _your_ sibling, and even though she has three new “sisters,” she would give anything to have _her_ brother back.


End file.
